


Scheduling

by Ephemera_pop (Alex_Draven)



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-04
Updated: 2005-03-04
Packaged: 2018-10-16 17:59:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10576533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Draven/pseuds/Ephemera_pop
Summary: Sometimes you don't have to do everything yourself





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet for [](http://patchworkdragon.livejournal.com/profile)[**patchworkdragon**](http://patchworkdragon.livejournal.com/) over at [](http://fic-requests.livejournal.com/profile)[**fic_requests**](http://fic-requests.livejournal.com/) that got too long to post in comments ...

He'd always promised himself he'd never be the kind of guy who'd blow off the important things for work stuff. And that he'd always keep his word. If he said he was going to be somewhere, or do something, damnit, he would be there and it would be done. It's just that there were moments, like this one, trapped in an executive waiting room waiting for the charter to finish checks so he could make it back to Texas for rehearsal, when he wondered about that.

They'd told him 'five minutes' at least ten minutes ago, and the pills he'd taken were making everything woolly, and his PDA was a little blinking bundle of blur to his sandpaper eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to remember what it had been that he was trying to do in the first place. His mind was a mess, and if Justin ragged on him for being totally OCD with the whole notes and lists thing, he'd just have to suck it up, because without them it really *would* all fall down, and then where would he be?

The big black letters on the back of his hand told him to call Jez, but the sludgy memories he could drag up suggested that Jez was in Toronto for three days, which meant that now was really not the moment. No one likes to do business when they had been sleeping right before you called, although when it happened to Chris he tended to blame himself for keeping strange sleep patterns and not turning his cell off. If he could remember *why* he was meant to be calling Jez he'd take the moment while they were still on the ground to leave him a message.

He shifted to dragging his fingers over his forehead, listening to the muted sounds of the almost-empty airport. Someone typing. One of the cleaners a little way off, sweeping a grumbling floor polisher. His head pounding with an immanent stress headache. Footsteps.

His reactions were way slow, because by the time he'd processed why that was out of place and opened his eyes and shifted in his chair, someone was touching his shoulder, silhouetted against the strip lights. Lance.

Chris blinked. There wasn't supposed to be a Lance. He didn’t remember a schedule that had Lance meeting him here, at least. Wasn't Lance meant to be in Vegas, in fact? He'd missed whatever it was Lance had just said, too.

"What?"

Lance slid into the plastic seat next to Chris, keeping one hand on Chris's shoulder.

"You really are spaced, aren't you? When did you sleep last?"

"I slept last … this morning. I slept this morning." He sounded defensive. Like Lance could talk about trying to pack ten extra things into every day. "What are you doing here?"

"You slept for, like, two hours Chris. In the car. Joey phoned me while you were sleeping on him."

"I'm fine. Seriously man – don’t you have that thing in Vegas?"

"Kind of – it was optional, and this is more important." Lance's fingers started up a gentle squeeze-and-release along Chris's shoulder, and Chris tensed against it.

"What?"

"Riding your ass to take care of yourself some, so there's still a Chris to come back to us, and not some crispy fried critter."

Lance laid it down like it was as obvious as the sun rising and didn’t stop touching. Chris moved back and around, so he could see Lance's face and he wasn't quite so close.

"Jesus. Lance, I'm fine. I can handle this. It's just a rehearsal ahead of the benefit gig. Maybe play though a couple of new things. It's nothing. It's not like I'm working shifts in Happy Burger or something."

"Oh no. You are not bringing that up again. So you worked three jobs for a while when you were a teenager. Who cares? At some point that stops being admissible evidence that you should be able handle three *careers*, any number of good causes, and a weird ass extended family of friends and relations who sometimes seem to be determined to out soap-opera anything on tv. "

"Fuck off Bass. JC's hurting, is all. It's no big to spend some time with the guy when he's just been dumped."

"I'm not saying you shouldn’t take care of your friends. Just, you know, take some time for yourself too."

"Can't you take a hint? I. Am. Fine. I love this stuff! Jesus!"

Lance wrapped warm fingers around Chris's wrist.

"Chris. Chris, man, just – let me do this, ok?"

"What?"

Lance didn't react to the snap in Chris's voice, and after a long second where Lance just held still and looked at him, he starting to feel like a total arsehole for being so ratty. He ran his free hand over his face again and forced out a long breath.

"Sorry. I'm just – you know. Although the question stands. I totally have no clue what you want to do right now."

"Tag along to Texas, for starters. Order you room service. Make sure you sleep. Kick Ty's ass for not taking more of the detail stuff."

Chris arched an eyebrow and interrupted "Since when do you get to kick my assistant's ass?"

"Since you got too caught up in things to realise that he's slacking off. And he used to work for me, remember? I know what he can do if you'd just let the guy work."

"Man, no."

"Man, yes. That's why I gave him to you. You are going to delegate some of this stuff to him, if I have to pry it out of your unconscious fingers myself."

Lance gave his final threat the full force of his Hollywood Gangster impression, and Chris found himself smiling, despite himself. Lance tugged on his wrist a little, and Chris let himself sag towards him, ending up with his head on Lance's shoulder and Lance's arms wrapped round him. Fuck but he missed this sometimes. He didn’t even care about the imminent flight or the hard edge of the chair jabbing him in the thigh, just breathed in Lance and felt himself relax, finally.


End file.
